Epic
by Penguin Voodoo
Summary: Written for Starvation.  Lyme thought that after the Games, she could take a break, get back to normal, live nicely, etc.    It isn't that simple, the Games are a domino chain.  Prompt: epic   Lyme needs love.


**_This was written for Starvation, epic. _**

**_I thought that the meaning as "majestic, great" was overused, so I stuck with a "long journey". "Poem" was tempting, and I could have done something with Cato, but Lyme needs appreciation. _**

**_Written from Lyme's view, might seem too OOC, but hey, she only had a paragraph's screen time in total. I think I didn't get too off track, still stays true. It may seem long, but read it through, it's not terrible. Not short, but worth time. _**

**_Please Review. Reviews are feathers in my cap. _**

_This will be an epic, by name only_

Thus I say to my lazy parts

_Once I return out of the Games_

_We will live an easy life. _

Three lives were ended by my token

Another five quelled by me with the panel,

I kept myself out of the cannibal's mouth

And managed to become friendly with my mentor.

Oh, I thought my epic would just end

When I came out of the arena, live and intact.

I wedded another victor, though I knew the victor's curse

I thought a normal life would forward the end

And lost my last bits of remaining sense.

I thought I could wing the Victory Tour

While dodging the camera's cheeky eyes.

I never knew the district's hate towards

The one who outlived their children dear.

_A few more steps,_ I told my soft sects,

_To complete this abominable tour;_

_Then I would get to return to my life _

_Back in sweet, obsequious Two. _

It isn't just snow, it's _President Snow,_

Who can kill me with phrases few:

I sit in his study, it reeks of redstained roses;

(I wonder if my blood will join that pool.

For only Gamemakers tamper with controls

And tokens are tabs upon tribes.)

I am here at his command.

He asks me if I want to become

Not dead meat, but a Gamemaker,

I do want to decline,

But it is _President_ _Snow, _after all.

I send my progeny back to home

And move into the Capitol.

The girl from Seven won't be my last kill

By means of the horrible Games.

Murdering the innocent is on my hate list;

Yet I must continue if I want to keep

Coriolanus Snow's wrath at bay.

_The Gamemakers can do this_, I grit my teeth,

_And if they can, so can you, now one of them;_

I reply, _my epic should have ended_

_After my wintry Hunger Games_

_Yet it continues on and on._

The consolation: "This _step will be the last_

_Years later, they will force you to resign_

_And you can return back to Two."_

I resign of my own accord

When my own child dies in these Games

I have a hand in killing her:

The dam that drowned exploded at my cue.

_The epic has ended_, I supply to myself

As I walk out of the Gamemakers' room;

_I will return to foreign Two_

_And become familiar once again. _

"Wait, Lyme," says Plutarch Heavensbee,

A Gamemaker less violent than most;

His ideas are stuck in his mind

Not in the arena for all to see.

"You are a victor, go into the Training Center

Pretend to meet up with your estranged husband:

I mean, go ahead and reunite

But come to a clandestine meeting at night.

Say no comment about this assembly

Much will be ruined if you do."

He tells me the details, says it is vital

I decide to play along; I can always leave.

There is a collection in this room

Of Capitolians like Plutarch and a plain young man

Of district victors such as Haymitch and Beetee.

I recognize prominent individuals in the motley.

Plutarch and Beetee leak out the purpose

While Haymitch becomes very surly.

This is an undercover group who wants to rid

The entire country of this damned system.

_If you say yes, Lyme_, _you will get revenge_

My conscience simply rattles on.

_You lengthen this epic,_ replies my spoilt

_Which you promised would end after the Games. _

_Do I care? _I retort. _I support the ideals _

_Of this group. My epic is stretched,_

_My safety endangered, I am aware_

_But this work brings me satisfaction. _

My epic is no longer in name only

For I have taken more steps than desired.

The cold person that muses is not the one

That stole victory from twenty-three others.

I keep telling myself, _epic_ will end eventually,

When the Capitol stops asking me tasks

Or when Coriolanus leaves the throne.

**Epilogue**

Lyme's epic would end, yes, like everything.

It didn't finish during its designated time. Lyme died in the mist of a rebellion that she thought she could only set a base for.

When she was trying to get the remainder of her people out, they took her in the victor's purge.

A smile creeps over Snow's face when he kills her. He knows when she wants the _epic_ to end.

_But do I, Coriolanus Snow, care? You judge, reader. _


End file.
